


The people you love approach like a sigh

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Finn and Poe love each other very much, M/M, instafic, space vicodin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Finn visits Poe after surgery.(One last TFA-only otpfic.)





	The people you love approach like a sigh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts).



> Orchis wanted Finn admiring Poe's eyelashes.
> 
> Title from "Witch City" by Kate Schapira.

When the droid pulls back the curtain to let him into Poe's cubicle, Finn hesitates. Just for a moment, but enough to spike his nerves with shame when he realizes what he's done. 

Poe is pale under his tan, like snow trembling over a rushing melt; his lips are chapped, his stubble messy for once, rather than rakish. 

He looks so *small* there, just a bag of bones and skin so easy to bruise and tear.

Finn takes a breath, but something burns in his sinuses, behind his eyes.

Poe greets him with a lopsided smile and words drawled out into several syllables. "Hey, buddy..." 

"Hey," Finn says. He's got his jacket in his hands and he's twisting it this way and that. Med-bay smells like bacta and antiseptic, still far too familiar for his liking. "How're you feeling?"

"So good!" 

"Yeah?"

Poe's grin widens and his brows jump and dance as he lifts one hand to point upward. At the ceiling? At the heavens? "Tell the meds droid I love him. It. Her. Them. Whatever the identification, they are a supernatural being of pure goodness and love and my eternal devotion is all theirs. Forever. Eternally."

BB-8 beeps reprovingly from the other side of the cot. Poe giggles, actually *giggles*, shoulders lifting and falling, laughter burbling out his mouth. "Don't be jealous! My heart is full! Of love! Also blood."

Finn draws up a stool and sits down. "Beeb? What's going on?"

"Melzma!" BB-8 starts to explain how the painkiller works on the molecular level, but Finn interrupts him.

"So he's flying high, huh?"

"Finnnnnnnnnnnn," Poe says. "I'm a pilot! I'm always flying! It's in the job description, you know."

Finn takes Poe's hand; it's dry and limp in his grasp, so he has to stop himself from squeezing it. "Painkiller's pushing you higher."

When Poe smacks his lips, BB-8 extends a gripper arm with a small packet of juice.

"Thanks, Beeb." Poe turns his gaze to Finn, effortfully, awkwardly, like he's piloting an out-of-date junker. His eyes are bloodshot and there's a little crust in the corners, as well as dark bags underneath. But then he blinks and seems to focus. Step by step, until he's really looking at Finn, his dopey grin clarifying into something sharper and truer. "Hey."

"Hey," Finn says again. He laces their fingers together. "You came through great."

"I'm a resilient little bastard, Pops always said so."

"Yeah." Finn works his thumb over the bulb of Poe's wrist. "You are."

"Stubborn."

"That, too."

"Ha," Poe says in a long exhale. His eyes close for several moments. In the sterile glare, his lashes are sooty, thick, impossibly silky-looking. Finn curls his other hand into a fist, lest he reach over and stroke them. 

The vein in Poe's neck jumps under his sallow, delicate skin. There's a sheen of sweat there and along his upper lip. His pores look prickled, littered with ash.

Finn loses any sense of restraint then. He daubs dry Poe's mouth, then brushes the pad of his thumb over Poe's lashes.

"Tickles," Poe mumbles without opening his eyes.

"Yeah?"

Now Poe does open his eyes. He turns his head, slowly, until his dry lips meet Finn's palm, still resting on the pillow. Finn holds still; Poe's breath is light, barely there. A restless bird, snow too late in the season to last.

Poe mumbles something that Finn doesn't catch. He leans in to hear better, and that's when Poe bites down on the meat of Finn's thumb. Not very hard, of course, but enough to make Finn shudder and swallow a squeak of surprise.

"Gotcha," Poe whispers, satisfied, grin tipping up again. "Point to Dameron, wingo."

Finn breathes easier now, laughter loosening him up, opening up his rib cage and warming the hunch of his shoulders. 

"Yes," he says between laughs, the word and the laugh becoming one. "Yes."


End file.
